Memoir
by TypinasfastasIcan
Summary: Lois is recalling her life. Prepare for a full gambit of emotions. NC17. No copyright infringement is intended. This work is submitted purely for entertainment purposes and not for profit.
1. Chapter 1

**Memoir / Chapter 1**

Last night I dreamt I went to the old farm again. It seemed to me that I stood by the old wooden gate at the head of the driveway, and for awhile I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. There was a padlock and a chain across the gate. I called out for someone to come and unlock the gate, but no one answered.

Then, like all dreamers, I was possessed suddenly of a supernatural ability to slip through the gate and pass through the barrier before me, unfettered. The drive was not straight the way I remembered it had been, but wound around before me, twisting and turning. As I continued to travel down this unfamiliar path I became aware of several changes; it was narrow and unkempt, not at all the neatly manicured path that it had been. Nature had taken over and, little by little, in her stealthy, insidious way had encroached upon the drive with long tenacious fingers. The trees and the brush had crowded, uncontrolled, to the borders of the drive. The drive was a ribbon now, a thread of its' former self, the gravel surface all worn off, and choked with grass and moss. The trees had thrown out low branches, the roots were like gnarled skeleton claws.

At first, I was puzzled and did not understand, but as my dream began to unfold, I began to understand these twists and turns to represent the journey that my life had been, the trees and brush had been the challenges I had faced in all these long years since those days of my youth spent on the Kent farm.

At long last I spied the house. There was no welcoming fire in the chimney. The bright, cheery sunflowers that had always waved in silent welcome from the front garden were long gone. The yellow paint now tired and peeling, the farmhouse stood silent and forlorn.

Moonlight can play odd tricks upon the fancy; especially that of the dreamer. As I stood there in the moonlight, hushed and still, I could swear that the old house was not an empty shell, but lived and breathed again as it had before. Suddenly the old, cracking paint grew brighter, lights came on in the house and the curtains blew softly in the night breeze of a temperate Kansas spring evening.

The rooms would bear witness to our existence. The little heap of books that served as research for an article, a discarded copy of the _Daily Planet, _coffee cups, cushions with the imprint of our heads on them, the charred embers of our log fire still smoldering in the grate. And Shelby would be there, stretched out on the floor in front of the fire, lazily waiting for Clark or the children to play fetch.

A cloud that I hadn't noticed passed over the house, obscuring the moonlight, and hovered for a moment, like a dark hand before a face. The illusion went with it, and the lights in the windows were extinguished. I looked upon a desolate shell, soulless at last, unhaunted, with no whisper of the past.

When I thought of the house in my waking hours, I was not bitter. I would remember the perfume of the gardens in summer, the birds that sang at dawn. The delicious aromas of bacon and pancakes cooking on the griddle, and freshly brewed coffee. Sunsets viewed lazily from the porch swing. And love.

These memories were permanent and could not be dissolved. All this I resolved in my dream, while the clouds scuttled across the face of the moon, for like most sleepers, I knew that I dreamed. In reality, I lay many miles away, in alien surroundings, and would wake soon, in a bare little hospital room. I will stretch and turn and open my eyes, bewildered by the glittering sun. The hard, clear sky will be so different then that moonlight of my dream. The day will stretch out before me, long and uneventful. For I am now an old woman and the adventures of my youth are a thing long passed. Not so for Clark; he remains ever youthful. Even if he did age as the rest of us, I should still see him as the same handsome man that won my heart so long ago. It's a funny thing, that he treats me as though he sees me as a young woman still. That's the purity of his heart—his ability to really see people. So in our hearts and in my dreams we are young together still.


	2. Chapter 2

**Memoir/ Chapter 2**

"Mrs. Kent? Hello, Mrs. Kent? Are you awake? You have a visitor." The morning sun flooded through the windows, chasing away the mist and shadows of my dreams from the night before.

I recognized the bright, cheery voice of Antoinette, the morning nurse. She was always so effervescent. Her cornflower blue eyes twinkled and her freckled cheeks dimpled in her friendly way. It took me a minute before I realized she was talking about me when she referred to Mrs. Kent. But then I remembered that I was the matriarch of the Kent family now—for nearly 45 years Martha had been gone. I remembered back to the first time a nurse called me Mrs. Kent, she was handing me a soft bundle of cloth, saying "Would you like to meet your new baby, Mrs. Kent?" I remembered thinking it so odd that this silly nurse thought to hand off my baby to my mother-in-law. Then I realized she meant me. I had never gone by my husbands' name in public as I had established a name in the business world as Lois Lane. It was an odd and wonderful feeling all at the same time. I had always been simply Lois and in that instant I transformed into Mrs. Kent. I'd grown up somehow, but at the same time I felt younger and more vulnerable than I had been in my entire life.

Antoinette was chattering away again in that breezy way she did, as she fluffed and fussed about me. "Your grandson is here again to visit. He's so devoted to you. It's so touching. Many of the older nurses talk about how he's the spitting image of your husband. It's remarkable is what it is." She continued fussing and chattering. It would have been bothersome if she wasn't just the most refreshing thing to wake up to each morning, with her sweet chirping—just like a little lark flitting about the room, singing pretty. "He's been waiting so patiently for you to awaken. May I tell him you are ready for him now?"

I nodded. "Yes." I was about to tell her to ask him in when he rounded the corner and entered my room.

"How's my favorite girl?" Clark asked as he took my hand in his and kissed my forehead tenderly. He wove his other hand in the silver tendrils of the hair that framed my face. His hands were warm, and my hand was smaller than ever, pale and crepe-paper thin in his large hand. In that moment, I didn't feel old and frail. I felt young and vital. This of course was my Clark, and not my 'grandson'. That was the story that we gave the world to allay their suspicions. When I had started to age to a point that would stimulate curiosity, Clark simply retired from public life and then 'Clark Kent, Jr.' was my public companion. That was a tricky transition. By the time I retired from professional life it was even easier to have my 'grandson' become my escort.

"Better now." Antoinette left the room and I seized the opportunity to kiss my husband.

"I should close the door, if you are going to attack me like that." He mumbled against my lips and I felt my heart quicken and the blush rise in my cheeks at the seductive timbre of his words. Here I was, an old woman, nearing a remarkable old age and one kiss from Clark and I was as giddy as a school-girl, kissing a boy for the first time.

"Are you ready to come home?"

"Yes. Yes, Am I coming home today?"

"If the doctors will allow it." 

I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. I was so happy at the prospect of leaving that I thought my heart might burst. I couldn't wait to go home. _I was beginning to think I was never leaving this place. _As cheery as it had been, it wasn't home, and Clark and I couldn't be ourselves here.

"Clark, can we go back to the farm in Smallville?"

"Lois, we haven't been to Smallville in years."

"I know, but I had a dream about it last night and I would like to see again. It may be my last chance."

"Shhh, Lois. Please don't talk like that." Clark pressed his forehead against mine. I know he didn't want to hear me talk like this, but I had never been one to be anything less than realistic.

"I know you don't want me to talk about this, but we have to face the inevit--"

"Lo, you're right--But not today. Today, let's just get you home."

"To Smallville?"

"Of course, if that is what you want. I'll call the kids and have them go and get the house ready." Clark went off to talk with the doctor, leaving me to bask in my newfound knowledge that I was going to be able to go home today. Home to Smallville.


	3. Chapter 3

**Memoir / Chapter 3**

"Are you sure you read it right?"

"Yes, 'm sure. I showed you it."

"Maybe it was made-up.

"Nuh-uh. It's not made up. It's true."

"How d'ya know?"

I stirred awake to the familiar bickering of Jerome and Joseph.

"Boys! Come away from there, before you wake your great-grandmother." My granddaughter whispered sternly for her twins to be quiet, but I was already awake. I opened my eyes and saw two pair of brilliant blue eyes staring back at me from my bedside.

"Good morning, my angels."

"Morning, Great Lois." They chorused in unison. It always made me laugh when they called me that. Great Grandmother Lois was such a mouthful for them when they were just learning names. Somehow my name got shortened to Great Lois, and it stuck.

"Come and kiss your Great Lois." I pulled them to me, and we giggled together in our group hug.

"I'm sorry Grams. I only walked out into the hall to find grandpa. I thought they'd be quiet and leave you to sleep while I was out." My granddaughter was saying as she kissed my cheek. I hugged her close to me. Why she thought that asking the twins to be quiet would actually work was beyond me, but I really didn't mind that they woke me.

"Don't apologize. You know I love listening to these two little rascals. Sometimes their silly banter reminds me of the way your grandfather and I used to bicker."

"You're kidding. You and grandpa? "

"Don't sound skeptical—it's true." Ashley pulled a chair from the wall as the twins climbed onto my bed, and settled down, one on each side of me. Ashley was about to ask me a question when Joseph placed his delicate dimpled hands on my cheeks and turned my face to him, so that he could ask me a question. I know that it annoyed some of our family that he did that when he wanted your attention, but Clark and I thought it very endearing.

"Great Lois, Jerry says you are 145 years old. Is it true?"

"No."

"See, I told you." Joseph leaned forward and stuck his tongue out at his brother.

"I'm actually 146."

"Wow, that's old." Jerome stated in awe.

"Jerry!"

I laughed aloud. "Ashley, don't be upset with him. He's right, 146 is old."

Joey pulled my face back to look at him again. "Is anyone else that old?"

"No, but your Great Aunt Kara is close—she's 145."

"She is? How come she doesn't look like you?" Joey asked.

"Is it 'cuz she's a kritonian?" asked Jerry.

"She's Kryptonian, and yes that's why she doesn't look like me. Kryptonians don't age the same way that humans age."

'What about Grandpa Clark?"

"What about Grandpa Clark?" Clark asked as he entered the room.

All eyes turned to Clark. The boys scrambled over me to get to Clark.

"Hey, watch it there guys. You're trampling over grandmamma."

Joey stopped climbing over me and sat down on my lap, wrapping his arms around me. He pressed his smooth little cheek against mine. His face was haloed in golden curls, like a perfect Botticelli. "I'm sorry Great Lois."

"Sweetheart, I'm fine."

Joey turned his head, resting it on my shoulder to look at his brother who had scrambled over to Clark. "Grandpa Clark, are you old?"

He chuckled at Jerrys' question and hoisted our other little angel up in his arms. "Yes, you could say that I am old. Why this sudden interest in my age?"

"The computer said that Great Lois was the oldest woman in the world. Joey didn't believe me."

"We asked mommy to bring us here so we could find out if it was true."

"Ohh, so that's why you two were so eager to come this morning." Ashley said as she got out or her chair and went over to Clark.

"Hi, Grandpa."

"Hi honey." Clark hugged Ashley to him with his free arm and hissed her cheek. "I guess investigative reporting really does run in our blood."

"God I hope not. I can only imagine the trouble they will continue to get into if you are right. It's hard enough to keep with them now and they are barely 6."

"How old are you grandpa?" Joey asked as he went over to Clark for a hug.

"Old enough to know that you should never ask a woman her age."

"Grandpa! Tell us." Jerry whined.

"Why not investigate it and tell me."

"Grand-pa!" This time they whined in unison.

"C'mon, it'll be fun. If you can't figure it out by then end of the week, then I'll tell you."

"Okay. Can we ask questions?"

"Only yes or no questions. And the game doesn't start until after we have some ice cream."

"Yeah!" They chimed.

"Grandpa, It's 11:00 in the morning. They can't have ice cream!" Ashley protested.

"Ash, this is my job to spoil them. You wouldn't want me to do poorly at my job, would you?"

"Grandpa!"

"I'll make sure they eat something first." He winked at her. "Stay and visit with your grandmother. The doctor is still in surgery and we can't leave without the doctors' release, so we've got some time." Clark kissed me. "Have a good time. I'll see you soon."

"C'mon boys. Let's see if we can eat up all the food in the cafeteria." He grabbed the twins and slung one over each shoulder, which garnered giggles from both of them. Then he winked at me before he left the room, with two giggling bundles in tow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Memoir / Chapter 4**

"Ash, since you're here, could you help me with something?" 

"Sure Grams, anything."

"Help me get a shower."

She stared at me as though I had asked her to pull off a jewel heist.

"Don't look at me like that. I just want you to be close at hand in case I need help."

"I'm sorry grandma, it's just that you never ask for help."

"I know, but maybe it's time I started. Being laid-up with a broken hip has been no parade down Main Street. I shouldn't have been up on that ladder in the first place. I could have waited for Clark, or any one of you to help me. I was just being impatient. I've had some time to reflect and I have realized that I have got to stop putting myself in harms' way if I plan on making it to my 147th birthday."

"How _is_ it that you have managed to be 'the oldest woman alive'?"

"When I was pregnant with my first child, your Great Uncle John, I developed some complications. The baby was growing too fast and he was putting a real strain on my body. Your grandfather was so worried, so he thought we should seek out Jor-El for advice. He recommended that I get a blood transfusion from Clark. With each pregnancy, I required another transfusion. We didn't know at the time that these transfusions would make me age slower. So while I don't age as slowly as a full-blooded Kryptonian, I age slower than humans."

"So, that's why you can still look so great, even at your age. I did wonder."

"Yeah, I don't look a day over 65." I teased her. "Now, are you going to help me?"

After my shower, Ashley combed my hair for me while I sat at the window. It was a task I could have done myself, but it was comforting to have her fuss over me. My room looked out over the well-manicured gardens, and the fountain. If one had to stay in the hospital, The Wayne Memorial Hospital was certainly the place to stay.

"Grandma, I've been wondering. . . Grandpa's blood made it so that you aged more slowly. Is that also why your hip healed faster than normal?"

"Yes, I think that is the reason."

"Is it possible that you won't ever die? Maybe Grandpa can keep giving you blood transfusions."

"Honey, it's not as easy as it sounds."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what is involved in a blood transfusion?"

She stared at me as though she didn't understand the question.

"I didn't think so. In order for Clark to give his blood to me, the doctors first have to get it from him. In order to do that, he has to be weakened by Kryptonite. Each exposure to Kryptonite lowers his tolerance to it, which was never high to begin with. When I was pregnant, it was a necessary evil. But to do it now on speculation isn't fair to Clark."

"Grandma, he would do anything for you—anything to keep you with him another day. If there is a way, I know he would agree to it. He would think it was worth the risk."

"You're right, he would risk everything for me, but the world needs him—more than it needs me."

"But—"

"Ash, listen to me sweetheart. Do you think that your grandfather and I haven't already had this conversation?"

"Are you telling me that you've talked about this and you agreed not to look into it?"

No, honey, we didn't agree, but I am not convinced it's a good idea."

"I don't understand. You two are so perfect together. If any couple was ever meant to be together forever, then it's you guys. We all of us kids are in awe of you. If you had a chance to stay together for eternity, why wouldn't you want to try?"

"That's what I always ask."

"Grandpa, why is she being so stubborn?"

"Ashley, that's a loaded question." Clark deposited the boys on the bed and gave them the remote to the television before joining us by the window.

"Before you join Clark's side in this argument, let me lay out some more facts. Even though I have had some Kryptonian blood, my organs are still human. They can't go on forever." I said in my own defense.

"Well, aren't there some tests that could be done? Maybe you could have tissue or bone marrow transplanted into your organs so that they would regenerate."

Ashley was very smart, but she was also basing her entire argument on her emotions—as she often did.

"Ash, In the first place, every scientist or doctor that Clark and I have ever known that was willing to conduct the kinds of experiments you are suggesting turned out to be a complete madman. And in the second place, are you even listening to what you are saying? Do you think that what you are proposing is ethical?" 

"Ethics? Who cares about that? What do ethics have to do with it? I am talking about love."

"I want you to completely consider what you are suggesting—weigh all of the consequences. If I were to agree to any of those things, and even if it would work, which we are not sure that it would, (and that's a completely separate argument) and the public were to find out, then all of you would be at risk—you'd be hunted for your blood and bone marrow. Do you think I would be able to agree to any procedure that would put my entire family at risk?"

She was silent as she considered all that I had said. Clark put his arm around Ashley and said, "You are our youngest grandchild and so you are not as aware of the issues that we have faced as a family—and the dangers we have faced over the years. It may be hard to think that humans would turn on us, since our family and the Justice League has done so much to help this civilization, but believe your grandmother when she speaks of the possible evils that could befall this family. Together we have had to face many threats. It isn't something that any of us wants to take lightly."

"So you are okay with this? Both of you?"

"Honey," I said to her as I reached out and took her hand in mine and I squeezed it. "Of course I don't _want_ to die. But I do want to make the most of the time of I have left. I may live another 20 years. 20 years, 20 months, 20 days--whatever time I have left I want to spend with the people I love. I want to go to Smallville and be near my family." Ashley wrapped her arms around me, and I kissed the tears from her cheek.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Clark stood up. "C'mon boys, let's take Great Lois home."


	5. Chapter 5

**Memoir / Chapter 5**

I settled on the couch in the living room while Clark built a fire in the hearth. I picked up a paperweight from the end table that Clark had made for me many years before. To the world, it may have seemed an ordinary keepsake, but I knew that Clark had taken the sand and shells from a beach where we shared a particularly passionate evening. Funny, that an object as innocent as a paperweight could stimulate such vivid memories.

I closed my eyes, and I was transported back to that night. Slowly, his arms clasped about my waist to steady me upon the rough shingle. He led me to a place where the cliff face had eroded from the elements, and the sea, so that over the centuries, a small niche had been hallowed out, like a jagged half-moon, in the wall. On either side of us, gnarled black rock extended to the ocean, guarding us from the wind. Within the cavern, the sand was smooth. Clark released me and then reached out, his fingers curiously gentle, and stroked my tousled hair from my pale face. For an eternity it seemed, his eyes searched mine intently; his hand caressed my cheek, wonderingly.

Hope, anxiety, and some incomprehensible yearning suddenly burgeoning within me, tangling my thoughts and emotions so, that I could make no sense of them at all as his eyes gazed darkly into mine, seeming to draw out the innermost secrets of my heart and soul.

In that instant, my world contracted sharply to that quiet place where we stood upon the beach, as though some unknown force had magically woven it into a cocoon, enveloping us in gossamer folds, hushing the night, the wind, and the sea. My mouth went dry. I believed that if he touched me then that I should shatter like crystal, I felt suddenly so fragile and vulnerable.

The wind stirred, kissing my lips with spindrift, so it was almost as though I had pressed them to Clarks' flesh, licked the salty sweat of his body, tasted it, strong and sharp upon my tongue. As these torrid images filled my mind, I was swept by another wave of that strange, smoldering fire, so strong and violent now that it was frightening, agonizing in its' intensity. I moistened my lips with my tongue and slowly, tremulously, my body swayed against his, drawn irresistibly to him by the nameless thing that had seized me so fiercely and now inexorably pulled me down into its dark, primeval flames.

I wanted this man. I realized suddenly then, that I wanted him with every fiber of my being. Of their own volition, my hands crept up around his neck, trembling. I lifted my face to his and brushed his mouth impetuously with mine. His tongue probed my mouth greedily. My hands clasped his face, feeling the rough stubble of his beard. The abrasiveness was sweet and I felt no pain as his mouth feverishly left mine to slash across my cheek, his skin scraping mine in ardor.

"Do you know how much I love you?"

All those years . . . I had been so blind. The years I spent denying the feelings I had for him, never dreaming that he cared for me so deeply, so passionately. Bitter tears stung the backs of my eyes.

"Clark, I've been such an idiot."

"Hush, sweetheart" He crooned, gathering me into his arms, crushing me to his chest, raining kisses upon my hair. "Hush now. Let me heal your hurt—let me love you."

He drew me down upon the soft folds of the blanket that he had spread beneath us. Although I was not unschooled in lovemaking, I quickly realized that I was still ignorant of much. I had never known the exquisite torture of kisses light as a butterfly's wings against my eyelids, lips and temples, or how lingeringly a man's tongue could trace the outline of my mouth before probing its dark, moist secret places within. I had not known until then how slowly and softly a man's hands could slide across my bare skin.

Clarks' sensual lips and strong, supple hands wove their spell over me, and willingly I was enraptured. My mouth opened to him like an unfurling bud, my fingers tensed and splayed as they clutched his whipcord body, and felt the power of the muscles that rippled beneath his flesh. I felt small and delicate in his embrace, as though I were a willow reed he could bend or break, as he chose—and in some dim recess of my mind, I wondered if, when the time came, he would split me just as easily. I shuddered slightly with trepidation at the thought. He may have sensed my sudden qualms, because he tightened his hold on me, as though otherwise, I might take flight like a startled bird.

Little by little, our clothing began to somehow slip away. Time turned—and kept turning, and still, Clark tasted me, touched me, his kisses growing ever more insistent; his hands bolder. His lips swallowed my breath, devoured me. His tongue stabbed me everywhere with its heat. His hands and fingers aroused in me both delight and longing, so my body ached unbearably at its secret heart, in a way I had never dreamed was possible.

The mist floated in from the sea, swaddling us in a blanket white and damp and cold. The wind caressed my naked skin with icy fingers. But I did not feel the chill, as I reveled in the warmth of Clark's body. The dark hair that matted his chest was fine as down beneath my palms and against the sensitive tips of my breasts. His broad back was smooth as satin, his thighs were like iron. He smelled of sandalwood; tasted of brine borne on the wind, and musk. Avidly, I discovered him, explored him, mapped each line and every curve of him, and staked my claim on his body as he did mine.

He made love to me lingeringly, as though I was a rare flower that must be tenderly nurtured to bloom. Like heather or bracken twining about in the wind, I was. My breasts were mounds of soft earth, molded by his palms. His breath was sweet upon their crests; his tongue was moist as the mist that that drifts and curls in the hollow of the land, enveloped by the tall grass of the meadow, and I enveloped him, clung to him as he clung to me. There was no part of me he did not know, nor any part of him that was untouched by me. Dark flesh melted urgently into pale; we were as one, the elements and the earth, for what was one without the other?

I quivered, molten with desire as he drank from the hot secret well of me until I moaned low in my throat and strove against him blindly, desperate in my need. Strong and fierce, Clark took me then, wild as the sea in his passion. Together, then, we lay, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, Clark's hands beneath me, arching my hips to meet his own until a thousand stars fell from the sky, while beyond, the sea rushed in upon a wild shore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Memoir / Chapter 6**

When I awoke, it was late afternoon. The sun had cast long, lazy shadows across the living room, and the dying embers of a fire still glowed in the grate. Snuggled against me was one of my sleeping angels; Jerry. Although they were identical twins I knew this was Jerry. His face was a little fuller than his brother and his mother had the foresight to dress Jerry always in red and Joey always wore blue. I knew that if Jerry was here, Joey couldn't be far. As if an answer to my silent question, I heard Joey stir and noticed him nestled in the crook of Clarks' arm. They were curled together on the floor in front of the hearth.

I watched them all sleeping peacefully. I don't know how long I watched the rise and fall of their chests. Presently, my eyes locked on Clark's steel blue eyes. I don't Know how long he was awake watching me watch them.

"You caught me." I said. He smiled in answer.

"Yes, I did. Lucky me." I blushed. I don't know how he still managed to turn such seemingly innocent words and phrases into the prelude to foreplay, but he always did.

I was pulled out of my musings as he answered a question I hadn't asked, saying, "They came over to 'vestigate' me." There was laughter in his voice. I could tell that he enjoyed spending the day with them. "I had to add some more rules to the game."

"Like what?"

"They can't ask the same person more than 2 questions. They already asked John how old he was, and now they've narrowed down the time frame."

"That was very clever of them. Why make a game of it?"

He shrugged. "I thought it would be fun." He shifted and turned on his side, and I saw him gently wind Joeys' golden curls around his fingers. "Besides, I thought Ashley could use a break."

"She did seem a little tired. These two must keep her running."

"I'm sure they are full of salt and vinegar as most boys are, but that's not why she's so tired. She's pregnant."

"Oh, she never said anything to me about it."

"I'm not sure she knows. She isn't very far along."

"Oh. Remember when you first discovered that ability?"

"How could I forget? I went from jealous rage to fear to elation in under a minute."

I remembered it like it happened yesterday and not over a century ago. I had called in sick to work—I don't know why they called it morning sickness, I was sick all day long. For weeks I had been sick like that. Clark was away on assignment and I planned on a romantic dinner to break the news to him. He came into the apartment—the scene was set for romance; soft music, candlelight, champagne. He heard me moaning in the bathroom, and detected two heartbeats. He knocked down the bathroom door in a fury, thinking to find me in the passionate embrace of another man. He was stunned to find me slumped on the tile floor, having just emptied the contents of my stomach. I remember still the look on his face as he realized my secret.

Jerry stirred against me, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Well that explains why she was so emotional today."

"I didn't notice that she was anymore emotional than she normally is." He said as he continued to play with Joeys' flaxen locks that bounced back as though they were coiled springs.

"She was very passionate during our argument and she was crying."

"Lois, she's always crying."

"No more than any other girl."

"More than you ever did."

"Well, you can't use me as the rubric—I don't cry as much as most women."

"Lo, I know how unique you are. There isn't another woman like you—there never will be."

There, he did it again. Suddenly, it was as though we weren't separated by a coffee table and two golden-haired angels. The air was charged with electricity.

"I know what you were thinking about earlier. The paperweight." I blushed again. I don't know why I was surprised that he would know—we had no secrets between us anymore. Not after all this time.

"Do you want to go back there?"

"Now? What about the kids? We cant leave them."

"Not now. The kids have all planed a big welcome home dinner. We'll go later after everybody's gone home."

"I would love to go to our beach again. We haven't been there in 100, maybe 110 years. Do you think it looks the same?"

"I know it does."

"When . . .?"

"While you were sleeping. The boys and I went for a little trip."

I thought I detected a hint of salt in Jerry's hair. Knowing Clark, I thought they had played hard, running in the fields, and I dismissed the smell as being from sweat. I never would have thought he took them to the beach. Our Beach.

"No wonder they're tired. You took them half way 'round the world."

"I couldn't help it. I wanted to see if that beach was still there and not a hotel or an office building. I couldn't very well plan a date with you without checking it out first."

"A date, huh?"

"Only if you feel up to it."

"You're on." I couldn't help but smile. I was only just dreaming about that beach and now we were going. I couldn't wait for our date.


	7. Chapter 7

**Memoir / Chapter 7**

Dinner was a noisy affair. Our eldest son, Jonathan organized and hosted the whole thing, setting up large tables outside his house. John married Mara, a Kryptonian from the bottle city of Kandor and purchased the old Potter farm. He built onto the house after his third child. He got a late start with his family, but once he did, he made up for lost time, fathering 6 children. Ashley was his youngest. To say that she was a bit of a surprise would be the understatement of the century; John was 60 years old when she was born.

Clark and John talked and cooked at the BBQ. They were engrossed in conversation, absently tossing a ball out to the twins now and again as they talked. They were probably talking about crops and soil rotation. John and his family—the ones that stayed on to be farmers--actually worked the land of our farm, as well as his own.

We named him Jonathan after Clark's father, of course. Clark had read that some cultures would honor their dead by naming the next child in the family after the recently departed. Clark liked the idea, so we adopted it as one of our own.

I watched as they youngest children all played. Over the course of dinner my children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and a variety of 2nd and 3rd generation nieces, nephews and cousins all showered me with kisses and hugs. I can't remember the last time I had so many of my family members around me at one time.

"Hey mom." John sat down next to me and kissed my cheek.

"John, thanks for organizing this 'little' shindig."

"It's my pleasure. How are you feeling?"

"Great. A little tired—but I feel great."

"Ashley came talked to us this afternoon."

"Now, John, you know how emotional she gets. You shou—"

"Mom, listen, you don't need to tell me how emotional Ash can be—I know, believe me. But hear me out, please?"

"Okay. I'll listen. But what makes you think that you can change our minds?"

"I'm not sure that I can change your mind, I just want you to listen with an open mind and think about what I have to say." He was always so intense. He reminded me of my father-in-law in that way.

"O-kay."

"I listened to Ashley recount the conversation that you and dad had with her. I understand your reasons for not wanting anymore transfusions from dad, but what about one of my children? I know that you would be genetically compatible and my children are half Kryptonian from me and full-blooded from Mara. My children don't have the same sensitivity to the effects of Kryptonite because of my blood, and because they are second-generation Kryptonian."

"I'm not sure I follow. What difference does being a second-generation Kryptonian make?"

"Sammy has been studying it, over at Wayne Industries and he's noticed that each successive generation has less sensitivity to the effects of Kryptonite. Maybe it's due to the mixture of human blood."

"Has Sammy been conducting trials to see these specific implications? What if it doesn't work?"

"What if it doesn't? What have you got to lose?"

Well, he had a point there. I didn't have anything to lose. I had lived a full life. If it didn't work, then it didn't work. I was dying anyway.

"There's one more thing I want you to consider."

Oh, no, here it comes—the catch. There's always a catch—a price. There's just no cheating death. What horrible side effect had they discovered?

"If you do decide to do try this, and it doesn't seem like it is working—would you consider cryostasis like Chloe?"

I know that shock must have registered on my face. It had been so long that Chloe had been in stasis that I had almost forgotten. Her daughter Moira had convinced her that it would be a good idea until a cure could be found. That was 70 years ago.

"You don't have to answer. Just think about it. Now, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have a little bit of a selfish motivation, but really I am thinking about dad. Mom, he would absolutely lost without you."

I didn't say anything. What could I say?

"Mom, do you know what humans have that Kryptonians don't?"

Disease? Death? A red sun? A planet of their own? It was an open-ended question. I wasn't sure where his question was leading. My head swam with questions of my own. I was still thinking about Chloe. Was frozen statis such a good idea? Bart was long gone. Would she want to come back if he wasn't here? Soon even her great-grandchildren would be long gone, and her successive descendants wouldn't even know her. I turned my attention back to John. He was saying something extremely important.

"Hope of an afterlife. Think about it. No matter what religion they ascribe to, every religion has a central theme and that is that there will be a next life. Call it evolution, or science, or whatever, but Krypton no longer had religion by the time of its' destruction. Maybe that was its' problem. We'll never know."

I nodded, urging him to continue. I still wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"Men and women on this planet manage to go on with their lives when their partners die because they hope they will see them again. Maybe in their youth their faith isn't strong, but by the time they reach the twilight of their lives, they start believing again—even if it's a thin hope. Dad doesn't have that."

"How can you say that? Your dad—"

"Mom, I don't know how it all works; parallel universes, alternate dimensions, Heaven—any of it. I'm not saying he doesn't have faith in a Higher Being, but he doesn't know how it all works—none of us really do. What I know is that he's never going to die. He can't cling to a hope of seeing you in the next life if he isn't going there."

I was speechless—almost unheard for me. "John." I finally found my voice. "It's a lot to take in. I have a lot to think about."

"I know mom. I know." He hugged me, and kissed my hair. We sat for a long time, wrapped in each others' embrace, outwardly silent. Inside, my conscience screamed with the information download that my son had just laid on me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Memoir / Chapter 8**

It was late when Clark and I headed back to the farmhouse. We walked slowly down the worn path that ran behind the two properties, our fingers intertwined. The night was calm and still and the gravel crunched noisily beneath our feet.

"Tired?" Clark asked me as he disentangled my fingers from his and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close to him.

"Yeah, a little—but I had fun. It was good to see everyone. I can't remember the last time that everyone was together."

"I was wondering the same thing. I think it may have been Ashley's' wedding."

"Yeah, I think you're right."

"Was that 12 years ago?"

"Something like that—honestly, I tend to loose track lately. Maybe it's because I haven't worked in so long. When I had deadlines and schedules, I used to keep track of things like that. Now, without deadlines it's easier to lose track."

"I know what you mean."

"Do you? Is it the same for you? Do forget things too?"

"I was talking about how it was easy to not care about time when you weren't worrying about a deadline. I never forget anything."

We continued walking in silence, enjoying the cool night air. The moon was bright, and hung low on the horizon. A harvest moon, that's what it was called. I always loved the harvest moon. I remembered an ancient song—_shine on harvest moon. _My sister and I had a VHS sing-along tape of it when we were children. VHS tapes only existed in museums now.

"Earlier today I was talking to John and we talked about Chloe. For a moment I had forgotten exactly how long it had been. I didn't think I would ever forget—and then I did."

"Lo, don't be so hard on yourself. You didn't forget Chloe, you just lost track of time. There's nothing wrong with that."

"You wouldn't have forgotten. You just said so."

"That's different. I'm different."

"I know."

We continued walking, making our way up the lane and then up the gravel driveway to the smiling yellow house. A slight breeze rustled the sunflowers, and they waved to us in greeting. We climbed the wooden steps to the porch, still arm in arm, like we had done so many hundreds of times before. Clark sat on the porch swing, and drew me down onto his lap.

"Lo, what's on your mind?"

Such a question! There was so much that I wanted to talk with him about, but at the same time, I didn't want to burden him. Could I make the decision without his input? Would that be fair? How much did he already know of my conversation with Jonathan? It was hard to have secrets in a family where everyone had super-hearing.

"Clark," I searched his eyes, shadowed beneath the sooty fringe of his dark lashes. "You know I have no vanity."

"I know that."

"And I am not afraid to die."

"Lois, plea—"

"Clark, you asked what was on my mind. So, let me tell you." He nodded, his eyes locked on mine. "I don't fear death."

"I know that, Lois. You're the bravest woman I've ever known."

"I've had a good life—a great life. You have made me so happy—for over a century, you have made me happier than I ever dreamed possible. You understand me?" He nodded again, and I continued. "But I don't want to grow any older. I don't want to start forgetting you or this family. I don't want to forget one moment of the memories that you helped me make. I don't want to lose you. . . I don't want to lose myself."

He gently cupped my face and pulled me closer to him. I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I hadn't realized how many hours I'd held the tears at bay, but once the first one fell, the rest followed in silent mutiny. I was powerless to stop them. Clark rocked me and I felt the rumble in his chest as he whispered words of comfort.

This very day we had talked about how I was not the type of woman to give into emotional displays and here I was soaking Clarks' shirt with my salty tears. I don't know what had come over me. Tears were a foolish waste of energy—and yet I couldn't think of anything else that would make me feel better than to have Clark hold me and assure me, once again, that all would be okay.

"Lo, we'll figure something out. Together. We'll figure this out together." And I believed him. I needed to believe him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Memoir / Chapter 9**

Several weeks passed before Clark and I had an opportunity to talk. Our family was so happy to have us around that they kept us occupied all the time. Not that I'm complaining—just making an observation.

This morning started as most days did. Clark made breakfast for me, as he has for decades. I gave up the pretense of learning to cook long ago. It was hopeless for me to continue to try, and my family was relieved to have the torture end.

This morning after breakfast Clark and John had a meeting with the Justice League. Clark actually did very little with the League any more, as our children and grandchildren had taken turns posing as Superman over the years–allowing Clark to have a somewhat normal life. Even so, it wasn't surprising that the League still looked to him for moral leadership.

I took the opportunity of my morning alone to go and visit Jonathon and Martha's graves. It had been a long time since I had visited. I took some tulips from the garden, as they were always Martha's favorite. I always thought of her wherever and whenever I saw tulips.

It was a bright, sunny day so I decided to walk the distance to the family plot. It would have been a great day for a horseback ride, but I thought that might be a bit reckless to go for a ride without Clark around. With my luck with horses, it wouldn't do to be thrown without him around to catch me. There was no way that I wanted to end up back in the hospital with any more broken bones.

Sometime between the time I turned 110 and 120, one of my children—I don't remember which one—had put up a stone bench in the graveyard, so that I would have a place to sit, as sitting on my knees for long periods of time was getting harder on me. I made my way to the bench and sat down and began to pour out my heart to the woman who had been my mother since before I was even a Kent.

"Hello Mom." Now that I was there, I had no idea what I wanted to say. I sat there, listening to the stillness of the graveyard. Off in the distance I could hear the tinkling of a wind chime. I wondered if that was from our property or Johns'. I closed my eyes and felt the breeze lift and softly toss my hair. I wore my hair in a long bob now—so much easier to care for. It was still thick, but had gone completely silver. There was no pigment left, so I couldn't hold a color in it if I had wanted to. I remembered what Clark had said to me when I had complained about it to him, once I'd realized that further attempts to color my hair would forever prove to be futile. "Lois, don't all angels have gold or silver hair?" It would have been corny if it wasn't so heart-felt. Oh Clark.

Clark. That he was the reason she had come to the graveyard--to figure out what to say to Clark.

"Mom, I don't know what to do. John makes it sound so easy. 'Would you think about cryostasis?' . . . like it's the most natural thing in the world. He may as well have said 'Everybody's doing it.' John talked of God . . . and the afterlife. And of my being able to give Clark something to hold onto--to give him hope. I want that . . . to be able to give Clark hope—he has been a beacon of hope for so many, for so long. But I'm tired. I had thought that soon I'd be joining you and Mr. Kent. . . . that I would soon be seeing Lucy and the General and my mom again. And I'm afraid. I'm getting forgetful. I'm losing myself. Losing what makes me Lois. Despite what Ashley and Sammy and John and the rest of them all say, I don't think any amount of blood or bone marrow transfusions will stall these effects. I don't care for myself, but I don't want to be a burden on Clark or the rest of the family."

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and strong arms close around me. For a brief moment, I was so overwrought, that I almost felt that this was the comforting embrace of Mr. or Mrs. Kent. Then reason returned and I pulled back to confirm what I already knew--that Clark was here with me and that he had heard everything--heard me pour out my heart and soul to the silent, granite gravemarkers and mute trees. I gazed into Clarks brilliant blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears. He said nothing at first. When he did speak, his voice was raw, and choked with emotion.

"Lois, I . . ."

Now it was my turn to silence him. I pressed my finger to his lips.

"Shhh. You don't have to say anything." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, and a single tear trailed down his cheek. I kissed him, catching the salt on my lips. As soon as I tasted his tears, my own began to spill. We sat together in silence for a very long time, clinging to one another, trying to give comfort and erase the other's pain and fears.


	10. Chapter 10

**Memoir / Chapter 10**

_Softly, _

_I will leave you_

_Softly. _

_For my heart would break, _

_if you should wake _

_and see me go. _

_So I leave you,_

_Softly. _

_Long before you'll miss me--_

_Long before your arms_

_can beg me stay_

_for one more hour,_

_or one more day._

_After all the years,_

_I can't bear the tears_

_to fall,_

_so softly, so softly_

_As I leave you then. _

_I will leave you then._

"Lois. Lo-is. Wake up, honey. Wake up now."

Clark was gently shaking me awake. Our room was dark, moonlight filtering wanly through the shuttered windows.

"Lois, you were crying in your sleep. Is everything alright?" He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes.

"Fine. I'm fine."

"Honey, why were you crying?"

"Must've been a bad dream. I don't remember." I lied. I'm not sure why. I know I could have shared it with him—I just didn't want to encumber him with one more thing. In truth, I still remembered part of the dream and the fragments of a song. Leah and another friend of ours, Bobby, were Sales Executives at a large insurance company and they were very competitive, but they were good friends. Sometimes, as friends will do, they would fight. She shared with me their strategy for making up. They would get together and get drunk and listen to really, incredibly sad songs. They would cry and make up. It sounded almost barbaric to me, that they would subject themselves willingly to such torture, but she assured me that it was very cathartic. They had a play list and the final piece was always "_Softly, As I Leave You_." The Elvis version of it—complete with spoken introduction by Elvis about the origin of the song. Well, even without booze it was a tear-jerker of a song. I don't know why the song was on my mind—I hadn't heard it in years. Not since Leah had passed away.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine. Really."

His face was obscured by shadow, but I knew he was searching my face to see if I was holding back. At length, I broke the silence:

"Remember my friend Leah?"

"Of course, how could I forget?"

"She had a theory about aging."

"Why does that not surprise me? Didn't she have a lot of theories." She did, that was true. He didn't mean anything bad by it. She was something of a genius—but not in the mad-scientist-I-want-to-rule-the-world sort of way that we were so accustomed to in our lives. I think she always knew that Clark was Superman, but she never said anything. You could tell her anything. She never judged—just listened.

"_Anyway_," I continued, "she thought that the human brain was like a computer. Computers could be purged and cleaned, but as they got older they slowed down and then sometimes they would stall and windows would pop up unexpectedly when you didn't request the file. She said that she thought it must be like that as people got older—their brains were so full of information and memories that sometimes the information just popped up randomly."

"So, are you telling me that it's time to delete your cookies?"

"Yeah, something like that." I smiled at him in the darkness.

He kissed me tenderly. In all our years together, I've never grown tired of kissing Clark. Sometimes his kisses were urgent and primal and other times adoring, still other times playful. The one constant was that he always made me feel special and treasured. Tonight, it seemed especially so. His hands caressed my face, his thumb wiping a tear that had leaked from the corner of my eye.

"You sure you're okay?" It was barely a whisper as his lips brushed the corner of my mouth, the words rumbling from his chest. My heart contracted and fresh tears stung the back of my eyes. _How was it that the strongest man on the planet could be so gentle and so passionate?_

"Yes, I'm sure." I managed to croak out breathlessly. "Clark?"

"Hmm?" He replied as he threaded the fingers of his left hand in my right hand. His hands were warm, as always—in contrast to the coolness of the wedding ring he had been wearing continuously for more than a century.

"You know I love you?" He pulled my hand to his lips and placed gentle, downy soft kisses on the pad of my thumb and my wrist.

"I had a feeling you did. I'm glad you finally told me." He teased me. Then his mood shifted slightly and he said in earnest: "Lois, I will never stop loving you."

My mouth went dry. As I said before, he always made me feel cherished, but never more than in those moments. He kissed me again, so tenderly, so reverently, I thought my heart might shatter with the emotions that he was conjuring. I felt beautiful and like my heart was breaking all at once—it was as if he was making love to me for the first time, but likely, this would be the last.


	11. Chapter 11

**Memoir / Chapter 11**

I awoke to the familiar chatter of the twins. Sunlight flooded our bedroom, alerting me that we had slept in quite late. Clark, still snoring lightly, had his arm wrapped tightly around me, pinning me to the mattress.

"Great Lois!" They exclaimed excitedly as they began climbing onto the bed.

"Well hello." I whispered. "Keep it down guys. Grandpa is still sle—"

"Granpda, what happened to your pants?!" One of the twins had gone around to the other side of the bed, making a starling discovery.

"Hmmh?" Clark asked groggily.

"You're pants are gone."

Clark's eyes flew open at Joey's announcement. He blinked, hoping to chase the cobwebs out of his brain and replied, "Someone must have taken them. Do you guys want to help me see if we can catch the thief? You and your brother go downstairs and start looking for clues. Go. Hurry."

The minute the twins were out of the room, I erupted in laughter. Clark tossed my pajamas at me and then pulled on flannel pants and a t-shirt.

"You better get dressed—you know they won't be gone long."

I hurried to get dressed, still quaking with laughter. I followed Clark down the stairs.

"Hey guys—I found them. The thief must have gotten scared and dropped them."

"But I wanted to look for clues." Jerry pouted.

"Me too!"

"It's okay. We'll play a different game. But not until I make some breakfast for Grandmama—deal?" Clark playfully mussed their curls. "Will you help me?"

Both boys beamed. They loved to help.

"What's going on Grandpa? Was there a break-in?" Our grandson Samuel was in the kitchen.

"No, nothing to worry about. What brings you here?" Clark asked him as he handed a bowl and some eggs to the twins. They quickly set to work breaking the eggs into the bowl—complete with bits of shell.

"Ashley and Richard have an ultrasound appointment today and she asked me to watch the boys."

"We would have watched the kids. We're right here. I wonder why she didn't just ask us." I said.

"That's why I'm here. She was going to ask you and she called all morning and there was no answer. She was running late and couldn't come over herself. So, she brought the boys to me. Then I tried your line all morning and still couldn't reach you. I was worried, so I came out."

"Thanks for your concern, but we're fine." I said. I sat down at the island and began sifting the eggshells out of the pancake batter.

"Why are you two still in your pajamas? It's after noon."

"We didn't get to bed until after sunrise." Clark informed him as he set about making coffee.

"And?"

"And?" Clark shrugged. "And what?"

"Why didn't you go to sleep until after sunrise? What is this talk of a thief?

"It's no-"

"Uncle Sammy, a thief came and stolded granpa Clarks' pants. But he got scared and left them behind." Joey announced absently as he continuing cracking eggs.

"What?"

"Sam, it's nothing. The twins came upstairs and started to climb into bed with us and the blankets had fallen away on Clarks' side of the bed and they discovered that Clark didn't have any pants on." I offered.

"WHAT??" His eyebrows shot up and his face colored as he came to understand not only why we were being evasive, but also the reason for our dalliance in the bedroom. "You're kidding me. I can't know this."

"Oh, grow up." Clark said.

"Just because I am in my forties doesn't mean I have to act mature about the idea of my grandparents doing it."

Clark lowered his voice just above a whisper and said in a 'you're-not-too-old-to-be-spanked tone. "Sam. I will not tolerate that disrespectful tone around your grandmother. Now shut your mouth this instant and drop this topic. Understood?"

"Yes sir." He said contritely. "I'm sorry grandfather. I didn't mean to show disrespect."

Clark nodded and clapped his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know son, I know. You owe somebody else an apology."

Sam came over to me and put his arm around me and hugged me. "I'm sorry grandma."

I kissed his cheek. I felt a little bad for him. I know he didn't mean any disrespect, but I was always a little more progressive in my thinking than Clark. The whole scene reminded me of the day just after I came to stay on the farm and Mr. Kent was scolding us when he believed Clark and I had taken a shower together. It was completely my fault. Of course I wanted to make Clark squirm, but I didn't realize that his parents were going to react the way they had. "It's okay sweetheart. No harm, no foul." He smiled at me with one of his lop-sided smiles. He was a very handsome young man, with green eyes like his father and his mothers' blond hair. He was tall, like John and Clark, with a strong build. But he was extremely shy.

"Grandpa Clark, can I have a chocolate sandwich?" Joseph asked, breaking the tension.

"Yeah—me too. Chocolate sandwich." Agreed Jerry.

"What? No, you can't have chocolate sandwiches."

"Pleeeeeasse?" they whined in unison.

"What's a chocolate sandwich? Is it like a s'more?"

Jerry shook his head in an animated fashion. "No. You put it on bread. Auntie Kara knows."

"She makes 'em for us and cousin Jojo." Joey finished. Clark looked at me to see if anything they were saying made any sense to me. It didn't. I just shrugged. "If I had known about chocolate sandwiches, don't you think I'd be asking for them too?" Clark went to the phone and dialed Kara.

"Kara, this is Clark. Listen, the twins are over and they are asking for chocolate sandwiches. Do you know what they are talking about? . . . Oh, I see. . . Ok, thanks."

"I'm on it." Sammy said, having overheard the conversation. He sped out the door and was back as Clark hung up the phone. "Grandpa, let me take care of this and you can finish breakfast for Grandma." Sammy said as he placed a jar of Nutella on the island.

"Yeah!" The boys nearly screamed.

Sam started to spread the Nutella on the bread."No Uncle Sammy, you gotta toast it."

"Oh." He started to place the slices of bread in the toaster.

"Uncle Sammy—can you cook it with your eyes?" Jerry asked.

"Yeah, use your eye laser!" Joey prompted, enthusiastically. You can imagine what a let-down a clown at a birthday party can be with kids whose uncles and aunts can float and cook things with their eyes.

Sam obliged them and in seconds they were lost in their own happy chattering, feasting on their sandwiches. I couldn't help but smile as I sat there at the island, drinking coffee and watching my two golden-haired angels wearing chocolate smiles.


	12. Chapter 12

**Memoir / Chapter 12**

"Lois? Clark? Hello, anybody here?"

"In here Kara." I called to her. I was sitting in the living room. I had been trying to read but my mind kept wandering and I couldn't concentrate. I tossed the book onto a pile next to my chair, glad for the distraction that Kara brought.

"Hi Lois. I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"Not at all. Can I get you some coffee?" 

"Sure. That would be great." I poured us each a cup of coffee and then we sat down on the couch in the living room.

"What brings you around?"

"Jojo's coming to spend the night and he'll want chocolate sandwiches for lunch tomorrow." Jojo was the nickname that the twins had given Kara's great-grandson; Jimmy Olsen IV.

"Thanks for helping us out. Joey and Jerry were ecstatic. Where were chocolate sandwiches when I was a kid?"

"Who would have ever thought that I would someday be not only a mother and a grandmother, but a great-grandmother?" She said wistfully.

"Kara, do you feel that way because you and Clark both thought you may not be able to have children with humans?"

"That was a concern for me before I had my first child, but it's not just that. Family relationships were so different on my home world than hey are here. My grandfather, Seyg-El, used to tell me about the way things were like on Krypton before the Clone War and the birthing matrix. He talked of an ancient religion."

"What? Clone War? Birthing Matrix? Does Clark know about any of this?"

"I'm not sure how much of it he knows. Some of the information would have been sent with him by Jor-El as a part of his training, but his perception of things would be different than mine. I was 19 when I was sent to Earth. Clark was an infant when he left Krypton and didn't grow up listening to grandfather Seyg-Els' stories. They wouldn't mean the same things to him—he has always considered Earth his home."

"Can you tell me what you remember?"

"It's a little hazy now. It's been almost 200 Earth years since I've heard the stories, and to be honest, I wasn't paying close attention to the details at the time. Raoism was the official religion of the planet for hundreds of thousands of years. It was believed that Raoism started as a simple solar religion, but later developed into a complex pantheon, but I'm not sure about that part. It sort of blends all together with what I know of ancient Earth religions."

"How so?" 

"Long ago, members of the Science Council traveled the cosmos on scientific missions. There were several reasons for the trips. One of the goals was to find a compatible planet to move to if we couldn't find a cure for the green plague. On these trips, some of our civilizations' technological advancements were shared with other civilizations. On Earth, some cultures believed we were Heavenly messengers."

"Wow!"

"It's not hard to see why they would think that--remember when the dam broke and I was released from my ship and saved Lex Luthor?"

"How could I forget?" So much happened that day--I was stabbed and blacked-out. When I woke up, my world was in chaos and I thought I'd really lost Chloe.

"I later found out that he thought I was an angel. I was dressed in a white gown that draped over me. After I had seen paintings of Earths' depiction of angels I completely understood what Seyg-El had meant when he had told me those things. He told me that some of the early Earth cultures mistakenly thought that we were Gods, since wed arrived from the Heavens, wore draping robes and the yellow sun of Earth caused all of us to have powers. Some less ethical members of our race took advantage of this naiveté and encouraged this attention."

"I see." I was almost speechless—I was so intrigued. All these years, why had I never had this conversation with Kara—or Clark? She sipped her coffee thoughtfully and continued.

"I have seen similarities of Raoism in the Egyptian and Mayan cultures and I saw its' influences in other ancient religions. I have wondered at times if the religions on Earth were altered by our presence and influence. Rao was the name of the red dwarf star that Krypton orbited and Raoism was the dominant religion of Krypton, but it died out after the Clone War. Grandfather said that nothing was ever the same after the war. Our planet and our society as a whole was deeply scarred. Prior to the Clone War, Kryptonians lived in a virtual paradise. After the war, a sterile, emotionally dead civilization emerged. The population became isolated from one another, shunning all personal and physical contact. Procreation became a matter of selecting compatible genetic material which would then be placed within an artificial womb called a "birthing matrix." Any attempt to contact other worlds was forbidden, and the Science Council forbade space exploration of any kind."

"Can you tell me more about the War and how it started?"

"I can try—if I can remember. Over 100,000 years ago, Krypton had already developed scientific advancements far beyond those of present-day Earth, they had conquered disease, learned to retard the aging process, and perfected cloning; vast banks of non-sentient clones held multiple copies of each living Kryptonian so that replacement parts were always available in the case of injury. All Kryptonians were immortal and eternally young, and enjoyed an idyllic, sensual existence in an Arcadian paradise. But this society was tipping towards decadence and eventually political strife which resulted from the debate as to whether clones should have rights sparked by the presence of an alien missionary known as the Cleric."

"Around this time, there was a man named Sem-M. I think you might call him a rabbi in your language. His followers started a pacifistic Clone Rights Movement, which later developed into a major political force. Eventually, the Clone Rights Movement rebelled against the Science Council and started a civil war. During this time, radical groups split off of the main movement; one of them became known as Black Zero."

"Things escalated into violent conflict, especially after it was discovered that a woman's cloned copy of herself was allowed to gain full sentience and to establish a full, normal life. However, when a young man--the original woman's son--had discovered that his wife was this clone, he killed the clone, publicly killed his mother, and also attempted his own suicide. This was a key incident of the Clone War. The war was one of the deciding periods in Kryptonian history; it saw the end of the age of art and culture and the start of the age of pure, emotionless science. The war almost destroyed the ecosystem and left the planet a scarred ruin until her destruction."

"He also mentioned someone called Kem-L who wanted to eradicate alien influence from Krypton. He led a series of roundups and executions collectively known as the Great Purge, but I don't remember the details of this or how this played into the wars—or even if it did."

"Did you ever share any of this with your children or grandchildren?" I asked, my head still reeling.

"No—why would I do that?"

"Don't you think they would want to know their heritage?"

"Lois, Earth is my home. The history of my family and your family is here on this planet. Krypton is long gone and the things that happened there don't matter now."


	13. Chapter 13

**Memoir / Chapter 13**

I sat for a long time, pondering the conversation I had with Kara. When the coffee in my cup was as cold as the fire in the grate, I shook myself out of my reverie and took the collection of china cups, saucers, and flatware to the sink. I was still lost in thought and didn't hear Clark come up behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek, the stubble on his cheek grazing my skin. I leaned my head back into him a bit, proferring my neck to him so that he might take the invitation. He began to nip and press his lips against the sensitive flesh on the column of my neck. I always loved it when he did this—I would gladly agree to wash dishes all day if he would hold me like this, caressing my neck and collarbone with his supple lips.

"Penny for your thoughts." His words tickled my earlobe as he brushed a gentle kiss at the tender spot below my ear.

"Do you have a one?" The government had stopped minting pennies when the price of copper exceeded the worth of a penny. In fact, nickels and dimes were no longer minted, either.

"Nah, do you?"

"As a matter-of-fact, I do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah—you gave it to me."

"Really, when?"

"Remember the first time you took me to Coney Island? You said the same thing to me then, 'penny for your thoughts' and I made you give me the penny before I would tell you."

He laughed. My eyes were closed, and my back to him, but I could imagine his radiant smile. "Yeah, I do remember. And I also remember the monumental decision that had you so preoccupied; chili dog with onions, or chili fries."

"It was a hard choice."

"So hard that you chose both." He squeezed me tighter and rested his chin on my shoulder. "You kept it all this time?"

"Yes."

"Who knew you were such a sentimentalist?"

"Don't act so surprised. You know I am."

"I know it _now_. I didn't know it _then_. If I had known, then maybe I would have done something extraordinary, you know, so that I could impress you."

"It was the fact that you didn't try to impress me that impressed me the most."

"Where do you keep it?"

"In the attic."

"Show me."

"You don't believe me?"

"I believe you. I just want to see what other mementos you have tucked away."

"Okay. C'mon." I felt suddenly giddy and girlish. I took his hand and led him up the stairs to the attic. He pulled the lamp chord and a circle of yellow light pooled on the attic floor. Our footsteps scuffed and thudded across the dusty planks. I led him to a cedar trunk with an ornate, celtic design carved in the lid.

"Wow. This was my mother's trunk—given to her by my grandmother."

"Martha gave it to me years ago."

"I remember. I thought . . . I thought you had passed it down to Ellen." (Ellen was our eldest daughter.)

"I told her I wasn't done with it yet. When I'm done using it she may have it then." I began to kneel down.

"Wait. Don't sit down yet." Clark said to me and he dashed off before I could protest. He returned with a stool for me to sit on--thoughtful, as always. I got comfortable and Clark crouched down beside me as I opened the lid and began lifting my treasures out of the trunk to get the box where I'd been keeping the penny and my other 'date' mementos.

"Lois, these books . . . are these your journals?"

"Yes."

"I had no idea you'd been keeping them."

"It's all in here. Scrapbooks, letters, postcards, photos, articles, microfilm, and flash drives full of research on politicians and celebrities I've collected over the years. Oh look, here's that penny." I pulled out a round hat-box full of odds and ends. Clark was still looking pensively at the journals. "Didn't you keep journals?"

"Yes, I did—but not like this. You gave me my first journal. Remember?"

"Yes, it was for your 18th birthday."

"I still have it. I remember what you told me."

"Clark, that was a really hard year for you. It was right after your father passed away."

"But you were right. You know, even then, you knew me better than anyone else."

"Of course I did." I smiled at him. Together, we examined the contents of the hat box, commenting and reminiscing about the items and the memories they evoked. There was an odd hodge-podge of items; photos, napkins, name tags, chopsticks, a Japanese fan, worry dolls, a snow globe, menus and matchbooks from restaurants and hotels that we had visited in our travels around the world, both as reporters and then as friends and lovers. We giggled at some old fortunes from cookies that I'd saved, laughed at a pez dispenser of Superman, grimaced at the silly mug-shot photos we'd had taken while visiting China, and groaned about a hideously ugly caricature that was done of us when we went to Sea World in San Diego. At length, we collected the items and returned them to the box.

"May I read these?" Clark was holding several of the journals in his hand.

"Of course Clark—you know I have no secrets from you."

He reached out to me and gently caressed my check with the palm of his hand and said, "Thank you for trusting me with your secrets—and your heart." I gazed into his eyes, shadowed by his long, dark lashes, hiding in half-shadow in the poorly-lit attic room. They shone brilliantly and I was lost in their depths. Clark has said some pretty romantic things to me over the years, some corny, but romantic none-the-less. Something about the way he said this to me convinced me that this was one of _the_ most romantic thing he had ever said to me. I took his face in my hands and kissed him, hoping that I was infusing into that kiss all the love that I felt for him—all the love that pulsed and coursed through my heart and brain and in the hearts of our children and our children's children. He shifted onto his knees and drew me closer to him, threading his large fingers through my hair, kissing me, loving me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Memoir / Chapter 14**

"Dad, are you ready?"

"Up here John." I croaked out roughly, my throat dry from lack of use—the words sounded dusty to me. I realized I hadn't spoken to anyone since her funeral.

"I thought I might find you up here. We should go soon—Ashley will be upset if we're late." I nodded and continuing staring out the window. John came and stood beside me. He respected my silence. He understood me.

"I've never been to one of these things without your mom." I said at length.

"You can do this, dad."

"I know I _can,_ I just don't _want_ to." John didn't bother telling me that it would get easier. He knew that I wouldn't ever feel that way, so he didn't waste his time.

"Dad, what are all these books?" He asked, referring to the mountain of books scattered across the table and on the sofa of the loft.

"They're your moms' journals. She had them stored in a trunk." He looked at me for further explanation. When I looked at him I saw worry in his eyes. I knew that he'd been skulking around in the months since the funeral—checking on me. My family was worried. If Lois were here she would tell them that this is just my way, that I was a man of few words, that I preferred solitude. She would reassure them. That's what she did. "She gave them to me . . . a month before . . . she passed away." My voice cracked a little—the pain still too raw.

"So that's how you've been spending your time--holed up here in the barn, reading moms' journals?"

"John, she had a way with words--the words leap off the page, they come alive. When I read them, I can feel her, like she's still here."

"I understand." He gave my shoulder a squeeze. I embraced him, realizing he was hurting too.

"Don't worry about me. I just need time."

"I know. And time you shall have, but not today. We have to get moving. Your newest great-grandchild is being blessed in less than an hour and I don't feel like flying to get there on time."

We walked down the stairs and out of the loft in silence. Spring came late this year and the snow was just starting to melt. As we climbed into Johns' car he asked me; "Have you finished reading all of moms' journals?"

"All but the newest one. I get to a certain point and then I go back and start again."

"Why? Is it not good?"

"No. Your mom was a great writer. And she had the Pulitzers to prove it. She portrays me as being more romantic than I see myself, but it's her perspective on our life."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Once I finish it, I have to accept that she's gone."

"I don't know dad, I'd have to say that she had you pegged pretty well."

We drove the rest of the way to the church in silence.

* * *

John planned on bringing me back home after the ceremony, but I preferred to walk back to Smallville. I made my way to the cemetery, wanting to talk to Lois about our great-granddaughter. The snow was still hard-packed here at the graveyard, and crunched noisily beneath my feet. The wind was cool--the last vestige of winter. I hoped it would grow cold enough to sting my face, numb me.

"Lo, I went to the Blessing today of Ashley and Richards' daughter. They named her Lois Joanne Grayson. She's beautiful. She has your eyes."

I don't know how long I sat in the cemetery on Lois' bench. The air was crisp and still. The trees were silent and naked, standing sentinel in the mute graveyard. I thought of the day a few months ago when I found Lois sitting in this very spot talking to my mom about her imminent death. I thought about how much pain she was in, emotionally, physically, and I guess, spiritually too. And I thought about how selfish I had been to not be more attuned to her feelings. When I read her journals, I kept trying to read the clues. Tried to see what she was trying to tell me. I thought of the things I should have said that would have eased her mind and given her comfort.

"I'm sorry, Lois. I'm sorry I let you down." I hung my head in my hands, as if to blot out the pain—if only for a moment. I felt a familiar hand settle on my shoulder. I didn't move to acknowledge it. It was likely Kara, or Ellen, or even Ashley. It would be like her to go looking for me when she would have her hands full with her family on this special day.

"Clark?" It was a whisper. I raised my head, puzzled. The voice didn't belong to Kara and there was only one other person on the Earth that had called me Clark, and she had been gone for months now. To everyone else I was either dad or grandpa—regardless of the actual blood relationship. I turned to look at the source of the voice. I was speechless at first. And then, I'll admit, I was frightened.

"L-lois?" I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Is this what madness is like? I thought she might be a ghost—or who knows what. This was Smallville—anything was possible. Before my eyes was my Lois—well not my Lois. She looked like she did when I first met her, but this was Lois. She had glorious chestnut hair, she smelled of lavender, and she had her heartbeat.

"Yes, Clark."

"Are you . . .? " I grabbed her shoulders, expecting my fingers to grab at the air and not connect with a solid form. "Are you real? . . . How?"

"I gave some samples of my DNA to Sammy and he had me cloned."

"Our Sam? Cloned? Why didn't you tell me?" questions were firing off in my head like fireworks.

"We didn't want to say anything, in case something went wrong."

_"Wrong?"_

She shrugged. "You know, if it didn't work. Or if I was a zombie, or something."

"But you're not–a zombie, right?"

"Too soon to tell." She broke into one of her captivating smiles that managed to steal my breath away.

'I've missed you." I seized her, hugging her close to me, being careful not to crush her. I kissed her hungrily, like a starving man that has just been invited to a sumptuous banquet. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

"I had to come back." She said breathlessly between kisses. "You promised to take me to our beach."

"I'll take you anywhere you want."

"Anywhere?"

"Yes, where would you like to go Mrs. Kent?"

"Take me home, Mr. Kent."


End file.
